


thunder chases lightning

by saddestboner



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: (maybe too vague and dreamlike), Alternate Universe, Don't copy to another site, Dream Sharing, Future Fic, Gen, Gothic Lite, Implied Past Head Trauma, M/M, Magical Elements, Telepathy, Vague and Dreamlike, the impernanence of memory, vague timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22166689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddestboner/pseuds/saddestboner
Summary: His memory—like his body years before—is failing him.
Relationships: Joe Mauer & Justin Morneau, Joe Mauer/Justin Morneau, Joe Mauer/Original Female Character(s) (mentioned)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: MLB Exchange 2019





	thunder chases lightning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allegheny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegheny/gifts).

> So, uhhh, your sign-up said something about “gothic terror.” That then morphed into this, which is sort of gothic terror but also...star-cross'd romance? Sort of? Anyway, enjoy! 
> 
> Kim, Sophia, and Allison are OCs.

Justin hasn’t been able to sleep lately. He’s not sure what it is, exactly—he’s always been a sound sleeper—he’s just— 

Sometimes it feels like he’s wandering into someone else’s dreams. Nightmares, really. Sometimes he ends up in places that are cold, almost arctic—but not quite _Canada_-cold—and sometimes he ends up in sun-bleached, bone-dry deserts with sweat beading at his hairline and on his upper lip. 

Usually, when he flails out of his—somebody’s—nightmares, there’s this sheen of _not-right_ that settles over him like a blanket. Tonight, as he shakes off the cobwebs of sleep, he reaches out for Kim next to him and finds her spot empty. 

She’s probably checking on the baby, he thinks, and he rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. Faint pools of light coming from outside collect in the corners, dancing with the shadows and dust motes. 

He tries counting shapes. Inevitably, his mind drifts to baseball. Maybe that shadow over there is a bat. And that smudge of dark is a catcher’s mitt. 

That’s when a puzzle piece clicks into place—he almost always falls into a dream about the dirt around home plate. About the sting of a collision, teeth rattling inside his head like coins in a coffee cup just as one body collides into another.

He hasn’t caught since he was a kid. Since the draft. They moved him across the grass and infield dirt to second base. Something about his skillset, his tools. 

Justin doesn’t remember anymore. It’s been a long time. And the memories get harder and harder to hold onto the older he gets. 

Kim tells him he should see a doctor, but what is a doctor going to tell him that he doesn’t already know? 

His memory—like his body years before—is failing him. At some point in the not-so-distant future, Justin won’t remember his wife, won’t remember smelling her clean, soapy skin or the faint, sweet bergamot aroma of her shampoo. He’ll forget Sophia’s firsts—first tuft of blond hair growing in and curling over her eye, first milk tooth, first words (“mama!”)—and seconds and thirds. His memories—all the life contained within them—will drift away like an empty paper cup skittering across damp concrete.

* * *

The dreams come with staggering frequency. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think someone was reaching out to him, trying to speak through them. But Justin does know better. He knows that sort of stuff only happens in movies. And in the old romantic ballads troubadours used to sing to capture the fancy of king and queen. 

Fairytales. Nonsense.

Justin wouldn’t exactly call these dreams _fairytales_ anyway. If someone _was_ trying to communicate with him, he’d tell them to fuck off. 

Just last night, he dreamt about—

God. He hasn’t thought about Joe in a long time. Not since he left and ended up in the mountains, finally healthy and enjoying himself for the first time in years. 

Joe had wanted him to stay.

But Joe had Allison by then, and it wasn’t exactly fair. Justin had known they would never be to each other what they were in their youth, but Joe still refused to let him go. Even when Allison started sporting a diamond ring the size of a golfball on her ring finger. 

So Justin had left because that was the only sane choice left for him.

And now he’s dreaming about Joe again. Those early days flit around him like moths, too quick for him to catch. New Britain, living off of the charity of others. Crashing on couches and holing up in spare bedrooms until he and Joe had cobbled together enough of their meager Minor League paychecks to get a small apartment of their own.

He still remembers those early days, locking the bedroom door even though they lived alone—could never be _too_ sure—and sinking to his knees in front of Joe. He can see himself like he’s watching a slideshow of someone else’s vacation.

There’s Joe sitting on the end of the bed. And there’s Justin dropping to his knees in front of him. Rubbing his hands over Joe’s boxer-covered thighs. Playing coy as he slips his hand into the front of his shorts.

He still remembers _that_.

He loses memories like dropped stitches, but those feverish nights with Joe remain indelible. 

Sometimes, Justin isn’t sure if he should feel happy or cheated that it’s Joe he can’t forget.

He’s thankful Kim’s never realized she’s been competing all this time with the wisp of a memory.

* * *

Kim isn’t there when Justin wakes up, her side of the bed cool and undisturbed, the sheets unmussed like she hadn’t even joined him. 

He drags himself out of bed and down the hall to the nursery, but Sophia’s gone too, her crib empty. Her pink blanket is hanging over the edge and he reaches out, tugs it free. When he lifts the blanket to his nose, he catches a pale whiff of Kim’s perfume. The blanket’s also covered in dust; the whole room is choking on it. 

Justin drops Sophia’s blanket over his shoulder and slips out. He’ll call the housekeeper to come by later and give Sophia’s nursery another go-over. 

He wanders into the kitchen. An envelope rests on the counter next to the coffee maker and he makes a beeline for it, tearing it open and shaking the enclosed note free. 

_We won’t be gone too long. Spending the weekend with mom while she recovers. Love you, K_

Justin frowns, mouth twisting. He can’t remember what had happened to Kim’s mom that would require Kim and Sophia to stay with her. 

In fact… He can’t remember his mother-in-law’s name. 

He pats down the pockets of his pajama pants and comes up with a crumpled neon green sticky note. Justin flattens it against his thigh, then holds it up to read.

It’s penned in his own writing, a note from Justin to Justin.

_Kim’s mom fell on the sidewalk and sprained her ankle._

Frowning, he shoves it back into his pocket. Unsettled, Justin makes himself a cup of coffee and goes to retrieve the paper. He carries the rolled up newspaper under his arm and plants himself out on the deck where the sun peers through treetops to warm his face in greeting. 

The sticky note feels like it weighs a ton, sitting in his pocket. Why did he write himself a note? Did he do this before he and Kim went to sleep the night before? Did he do it in the morning, when Kim left with Sophia?

Justin sips his coffee, wincing as it burns its way down his throat. His stomach does cannonballs.

Nothing about the last few days feels _right_. Even the sun feels off, as if someone reached into the sky and pulled down the sun, then put it back wrong. 

Oddly, he feels violated. Like someone’s interfered with him, on some fundamental level, and he doesn’t know who—how—why—

Justin sets his coffee cup down and closes his eyes. The sun might be angled wrong, but the rays are still warm on his face. They caress his skin, soothingly. He lets their warmth reassure him. 

He lets himself drift off.

* * *

Once, when he was younger, he thought it might be better if he just stopped sleeping. On the flip-side, there was the possibility he’d just go insane but even that seemed preferable to the nightmares. 

He made it three days and nights without sleep before he started hallucinating that his garbage disposal was talking to him. Joe had thought he was high, that he’d taken something that disagreed with him. But Justin tried to avoid drugs just in case he got nabbed for a test. 

He never tried it again. He thinks he probably always knew it wasn’t going to help.

* * *

He’s not sure how long Kim and Sophia have been gone. He finds another note from himself when he wakes up, taped to the bathroom mirror. 

_They’re gone_.

Justin’s stomach swoops, a slice of cold in his gut. He shoves the feeling down. It has to be wrong. They’re coming back.

He pulls the note free and stares at his reflection and realizes he’s older than he ever remembers being. His hair is thinning, his eyes are bruised, his skin is sallow and waxy. He looks like a ghost.

Justin crumples the note in his fist.

* * *

“Why won’t you just talk to me?”

Justin sits up slowly and tries to blink the haze out of his eyes. He’s still in bed and Joe is sitting next to him, rumpling the blanket and sheets on Kim’s side. The bed dips underneath him so he’s not a ghost, at least. Not that Justin believes in ghosts. 

He blinks his eyes and rubs the sleep out of them, anyway. When he pulls his hands down, Joe is still sitting there.

“What are you doing here?” Justin rasps out, his voice frail and unfamiliar even to himself.

Joe sighs. “You haven’t been picking up my calls,” he says, his tone dry. 

Justin stares at him, uncomprehending but _trying_. Trying to fit the puzzle pieces back into the puzzle. “The—the nightmares?”

When Joe looks at him, it feels like he’s looking right through him. Justin feels transparent. “Yes, the nightmares. We’re connected,” he says. “You never realized…?”

“I guess not,” Justin admits, feeling foolish now. 

Lightning streaks across the sky just outside Justin’s bedroom window, and a few seconds later thunder follows. Forever chasing after one another in an endless race. 

“Yeah,” Joe says. He reaches out, tentatively, like Justin’s a skittish colt or something. 

“What about Kim? Sophia?” he blurts out, and Joe’s hand goes still. 

“Justin, Kim left years ago,” Joe says, gentling his tone. “And it gets too hard for Sophia to see you like this, sometimes.”

Justin lets Joe take hold of his hand. “What do you mean?”

“Sophia’s got a family of her own,” Joe says, squeezing Justin’s hand lightly. “Kim remarried a while ago.”

Justin thinks about the pink blanket. “But I just…” He trails off, unable to remember what he was going to say next. It feels like a great hand reached down, out of the clouds, and plucked the words—and memories—right out of his head. 

“It’s okay. That’s what I was trying to help with,” Joe says, with a soft sigh as he rubs his thumb across Justin’s knuckles. “I was trying to send you some of my memories, like I used to. But I guess I just sent you my nightmares.”

“Those were all yours,” Justin says. “Your memories, dreams, nightmares in my head.”

“Yeah,” says Joe.

“What about mine?” Justin asks.

“Forgotten,” Joe says. “Lost. But you can make new memories.”

Justin thinks. About the lost years, the lost people. He thinks about Kim and Sophia, with families that aren’t his. “Do I—am I still close with them?” he asks, falteringly. 

“Yeah,” Joe says. “Sophia, especially. It’s just… Sometimes it’s hard for them. With you not remembering.”

Justin clutches at Joe’s hand. “How did we get linked, you and me?” he asks. “How long?”

“Ever since we’ve known each other,” Joe says. “The baseball gods knew we were meant to be special together.”

“What happens now? Will I forget this too?” Justin asks.

“Eventually,” Joe says. “But we’ll just keep making new memories together. If you want to, of course.”

Justin turns his eyes on Joe and drinks him in. He looks as old and tired as Justin feels, but there’s a stubborn pride in the set of his shoulders. His eyes and smile are kind, and even if Justin doesn’t _remember_ he somehow knows that Joe’s mouth feels right pressing against his.

So he closes his eyes, leans in, and kisses him softly, their hands linked over the ratty, threadbare bedspread. 

When Justin pulls back, Joe’s mouth pulls into a brilliant, beautiful smile and Justin’s heart catches in his chest.

Now, _that_ he remembers. That feeling? That’s not something he could ever forget.

Justin draws Joe back in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. **If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.**


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